Binding Marriage
by Petra Todd
Summary: The notoriously strange Lord Sherlock Holmes has a creative approach to dealing with his desire for his new bride Molly. Period/Arranged marriage AU.


_This story was written off a prompt from Tygermama, who asked for a smutty fic with Molly tying Sherlock up, "four-poster bed optional." I threw in an arranged marriage/period AU because why not?_

_Story is Rated M for a reason. Smutty reasons. With consensual bondage._

* * *

"It does have a certain logic to it," Molly remarked, considering his proposition. Her cheeks were pink, but her voice was as cheerful as ever. "Is that what husbands generally do, with their new wives? My mother never said…"

Sherlock smiled briefly as he bent to remove his shoes. "Depends on the couple. But your mother died when you were young, didn't she, too young for such discussions."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Did your brother tell you about my mother when they made the arrangements for our marriage?"

"No, I deduced it from the state of your family manor. A long-time widower's home, if I ever saw one. I make it a point to speak with my brother as little as possible," he said, his mouth twisted with distaste. "I was determined to avoid the business of domesticity altogether, if you must know, until he threatened to remove all funding for my chemistry laboratory. 'The Holmes line must carry on' he says, and we all know with the earl's preferences there's unlikely to be an heir from his direct line."

Molly tilted her head, the question in her brown eyes. Sherlock waved it away. "Enough about Mycroft. Last night was…" He paused. "Satisfactory."

More than satisfactory, to his delight and shame. He had had Molly undressed and in his arms only a few brief moments before he was spreading her thighs and thrusting inside her. The bride he never wanted had incomparably silky skin and dark pink nipples that tightened at the lightest brush of his lips. Before the pain of losing her virginity distracted her, she had wiggled against him with enthusiasm, returning his caresses in a way he'd been told proper wives never did.

The wet heat of her sex drew him in, and he sank inside his wife, losing all the control he swore he'd retain over his body and his life when he agreed to this bargain with his hateful brother. Discipline and self-awareness vanished when she sighed Sherlock's name into his ear, and urged him to make her his wife in truth.

But the blood on the sheets and the soreness of her body sobered him in the morning. She'd gained no pleasure from the completion of the act, and though he rarely indulged in carnality, he was not so inexperienced that he didn't know he was capable of doing better.

And she deserved better, regardless of what brainless aristocrats said about their boring wives before they ran off to their mistresses.

Molly had seemed a simple lord's daughter with little to offer but a fertile family line, a modest dowry, and a father willing to overlook his and Mycroft's bad reputations among the _ton_. Now she stood before him and their bed, considering his creative proposition not with the horror he had expected, but with amusement and intrigue.

Sherlock dismissed his valet earlier and gave strict orders to the servants they were not to be disturbed. The giggling maids curtsied and ran off, no doubt carrying gossip to the kitchens about the newly wedded couple wanting privacy so the notoriously strange young Lord Holmes could have his way with the lady in some wicked fashion.

He wouldn't be particularly offended by it. After all, it was entirely accurate.

* * *

His arms stretched back, resting on the pillows, with the long silken ties leading from his wrists to the posts at the top of the bed. At the foot of the mattress, twin ties secured his ankles- spread apart and resting on the bed- to the posts at the bottom.

Molly tucked a small pillow under his head and asked, "Is this right? Are you hurting?"

"I'm well. You on the other hand are entirely too clothed." He eyed her deep blue day dress.

"You're lucky I'm used to making do without a lady's maid, my lord, since Papa is so frugal," she laughed. The rich material slid down, followed by her underskirts and the small corset that bound her waist. She smiled at him as her fingers fumbled with the laces. "This is a bit trickier."

"Leave it off," he frowned. "In the future. Your waist is tiny, it's absurd."

"I used to, at home," she confessed. Her eyes warmed. "Papa said it wouldn't be proper, being married now, and I don't find this one painful but-" The stiff boned fabric fell t the floor.

Molly stood in her chemise by the bed, her eyes lingering on her new husband laid out before her. He was unabashedly nude. His cock had thickened the moment her dress had fallen, and with her eyes hungrily taking him in, his length grew harder and heavier, pointing toward his belly.

Molly reached a hand out tentatively and then hesitated. "You're very sure?"

"If I change my mind, I will say so," Sherlock said impatiently. "You can be certain of that. The purpose of this is to go slower so you can become better acquainted and-"

Her hand came down softly over his mouth. "You talk rather too much sometimes." Her eyes sparkled and her dimples deepened.

His response was muffled. After a few seconds of pointless mumbling, he ceased, and then his body relaxed. She lifted her hand.

A wry smile touched his mouth. "Yes, my lady. Whatever you say."

* * *

Molly hurried over to the candles on the tables and blew them out, bringing the light low with only two candles remaining by the bedside. She untied her chemise strings and it joined her other clothing. A wife only a day and she was already shameless, she thought.

She climbed onto the bed where her husband waited with hooded eyes. His dark curls were mussed, and he shifted restlessly. She wanted to touch him everywhere. She had begun last night, as he kissed her and made her belly feel alive with wanting, but the startlingly fast conclusion of their marital relations had thwarted her.

Now she began again in earnest.

Molly crept down to his feet, stroking the tender soles curiously. Anatomy had always intrigued her, but it was forbidden to her. The way bodies were put together was fascinating. Her fingertips traced the lines and arches of his feet until he made a strangled noise.

"Are you ticklish?"

He sighed. "Yes. Try not to use that as a weapon."

She stroked his muscled calves as she made her way north, amazed at how different the texture of their skin was. She nudged his legs further apart at the knees and dared herself to go higher.

Molly's hair dragged along his thighs as she leaned in to study his groin. His breath hissed inward, his arms pulled at his ties, and he craned his neck up to watch.

Her fingertips traced the curves of his cock, moving through the lines and ridges, over the veins and down to cradle his testicles. She thumbed the tender skin of his balls and he threw his head back.

"Gentle," he cautioned her.

"I am," she said defensively. "But I suppose I could _not_ be. You being tied up and all." Her face lit with mischief.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. What the hell had he done?

"I could do anything, couldn't I? You're very sensitive, my lord. Here. And here it seems." She rubbed over his balls softly and over to the skin behind his penis. "I wonder…"

He was almost afraid to ask. He squeezed his eyes shut, lost in the sensation of her feathery touches. "Wonder what?"

With his eyes closed, he was unprepared to feel her tongue darting over the fat head of his cock and into the slit. Molly's small hands wrapped around him, holding him steady as she tasted him experimentally. His eyes flew open to find her sweet eyes watching him with a penetrating gaze, gauging his reactions, and he realized that this must be what it was like for other people when he looked at them.

He felt utterly exposed. He flexed his arms, wanting to pull Molly from him to roll her beneath him, but he was trapped, vulnerable. He was at her mercy, and his cock was entirely hers now.

Apparently his traitorous penis was fine with the arrangement because it was harder than ever, pushing deeper into her mouth; his hips strained to pump into her.

"Molly, I'm going to…I won't last if you keep doing that."

He slid from her lips. "Really? You like it then? It's nice?" She grinned.

"Very nice. Now come up here and kiss me, wife."

Molly scrambled up over his torso and planted her lips on his. He winced as their teeth clacked together.

"Oof. Sorry. " She adjusted her angle, tilting her head and taking his mouth again. Her nipples grazed his chest as their tongues tangled, and he ached to feel them pebble against his teeth.

"Are you sufficiently pleased enough to untie me? I would like very much to continue this, but I don't think I can take much more, and I want to be inside you."

She shifted backward, lifting her mouth from his. "Can we do it- that- this way? I mean can't we? I've seen drawings. Not with the ties, but in Lady Mayson's salon, she had these etchings…"

"Yes, we can do that. I suppose we ought-" Before he could finish the thought, Molly shimmied down his body, and captured his cock in her fist again. "Dammit. Yes. Just hold me and-"

She straddled his legs and spread her thighs wide, sinking down onto his hardness. She shifted uncomfortably at first, still unused to the sensation of someone inside her, but he had discovered another thing about his wife: exploring and pleasuring his body made his wife soaking wet and hot for him.

Molly leaned forward and then back; slowly at first, she tested the rhythm and tried to remember how he rocked into her the night before. Sherlock nodded, encouraging her while thrusting upward in time with her.

"It's- _ohhh_- like riding a horse." Molly's head fell forward and she planted her hands alongside his shoulders.

"Exactly," he said through gritted teeth. He bucked into her, fighting the restraints but also more aroused than he could ever remember being. His wife rode him tentatively and then found her confidence, and then she used his body well. But she wasn't putting pressure in the right place, he realized, and her muscles were tiring. He envisioned the layout of her body as he had discovered it the night before, before he had lost himself in the wonder of it.

"Molly, lean forward, spread your legs wider. Lean in. More. _Harder."_ She obeyed and rode him harder, leaning in harder until he was certain she was rocking her nub of pleasure against his pubic bone. Her eyes lit up.

"Ohhh." She rocked. "_OH."_

"That's it." Sherlock gripped the silken ties and fucked harder into her, pushing himself her, throwing everything of himself into his wife. "Take it. Take it all."

She rolled her body against his, rubbing herself against him as his cock slid in and out her until he was biting the inside of his cheek, desperate to hold off coming.

He felt like he coming apart at the seams, and was about to burst when he felt her walls rippling around him, clamping down on his cock until he came. Molly's eyes widened and then squeezed shut as her body quaked with the force of the pleasure. Her lower body moved of its own volition as she rode out her orgasm, milking Sherlock of every drop while he lay gasping. Molly fell forward onto his chest, kissing him until she was breathless too.

* * *

When she could think again, Sherlock kissed her on the forehead. "As much as I'd like to indulge in some sort of post-coital affection, I really do need to be untied."

Molly quickly untied the binds and clucked over the red marks. "I don't know if this was a good idea. It was lovely but I don't want to hurt you."

"Hush. It was a brilliant idea. We just have to find a way to improve our technique. And you know what that means?"

"What?"

He grabbed hold of his bride and pulled her into a tight embrace.

"Obviously, lots and lots of experiments on the matter."


End file.
